


Fake Birds and Real Holidays

by Xparrot



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic, Family, Gen, Jossed, Podfic Available, Post Season 4, Team, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-04
Updated: 2008-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team descends on the Miller household. (No turkeys were harmed in the making of this story. Much to Rodney and Ronon's disappointment.)</p><p>[<a href="http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1240977.html">Podfic</a> read by Kalakirya]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fake Birds and Real Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [sga_flashfic](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/)'s "family" challenge. Set post-season 4 but written before season 5 debuted, so contains uncanonical speculation about Teyla's baby that was (fortunately!) later jossed.
> 
> The Jeannie and Teyla friendship here was strongly influenced by Sholio's wonderful ["Postcards to Jeannie"](http://friendshipper.laylalawlor.com/sga-postcards/postcards01.html)

"So this day," Teyla asked from the seat behind John, "is called Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah," John said, "but not _real_ Thanksgiving, that's next month."

"You mean, _American_ Thanksgiving is next month," Rodney said.

"Yeah, the real one, not the rip-off. Monday? You guys couldn't even get the day right?"

"Canadian Thanksgiving might borrow certain traditions from the American holiday, but our first celebration actually predated—"

As Rodney ramped up, John shared a grin of struck gold with Ronon. It wasn't often that a cheap shot could prick Rodney's nationalistic pride. Usually he'd just roll his eyes and point out that from Pegasus one couldn't even see Sol, much less individual nation-states on a single planet orbiting it. But Rodney had been so tense all the way here that anything could set him off.

Calmed by Teyla's quiet inquiries, he was running out of steam by the time John turned the rental SUV around the corner onto the correct street, until Ronon looked over his shoulder to the backseat to ask, "So, Canadia, you're the guys to the south, with the stupid plant as chieftain?

" _What?_ " Rodney screeched, "haven't you learned _anything_ from those hockey movies—"

Which kept him going all the way through pulling into the driveway and piling out of the car, and to the bottom porch step. He hesitated an instant before setting foot on it; then, tenaciously bracing his shoulders like he had the first few times he had walked through the Stargate, climbed up and rang the doorbell.

A squeal and pounding footsteps gave warning, a second before the door flew open and a blue-and-blonde blur threw itself at Rodney's chest, screaming, " _UNCLE MER!_ "

"Gah!" Rodney protested, barely catching his niece in time, and would have gone over backwards off the porch if Ronon on the step below hadn't caught him by the shoulders.

"So was the plane fun and is Atlantis still pretty and did you get carsick Mommy says you used to get carsick and does the ocean ever freeze solid so you can skate across it and what'd you get me as a present this time can I have it now please please please?"

"She's definitely a McKay," John remarked, "no need to stop to breathe—hey, munchkin!" as Madison merrily shrieked, "Uncle John!" and launched off Rodney to land in John's arms.

"Mer!" Jeannie said, appearing in the doorway with an apron over her skirt and her hands white with flour, "I was hoping that was you, you're late."

"Sheppard can't follow Google Maps," Rodney said, and then at a delicate throat-clearing from Teyla, such as she might make before he mortally insulted and/or got himself engaged to an alien priestess, he said, "Uh, hi, Jeannie, happy holidays, we're, uh, here?"

Jeannie beamed and gave him a hug that left powdery white handprints on his jacket, then turned her bright smile onto the rest of them. "John, Ronon, hi—Teyla, it's wonderful to see you again. Come on in, all of you! Can I get you anything to drink? Kaleb's out picking up the last ingredients for tomorrow's main course, he should be back any time."

Rodney winced as he hefted his backpack and led the way inside. "Not tofurkey?"

"Don't be an idiot." Jeannie smacked her brother's arm. "I promised you no, right?"

Rodney perked up. "You mean—a bird? Formerly feathered? Because when I was telling Ronon about the holiday, I think he might have gotten a few understandable expectations of actual, honest-to-god meat—"

Jeannie grimaced. "Ew. No, we're having lasagna!"

Rodney turned despairing eyes on John. "Okay, fine," he sighed, "maybe we can do _real_ Thanksgiving next month."

 

* * *

"Yes, I got your email, but you don't have to," Rodney had said desperately. "Really, don't feel _obligated_ , everybody'll understand—"

The webcam video had been jerky and grainy, coming as it was over country lines and an intergalactic wormhole, but Jeannie's frown had been clear. "No, Mer, I want to do this. Since the IOA has all of you on mandatory leave anyway—come! You won't have to find a hotel, we can put everybody up for a couple days. It'll be fun."

"But—"

"You don't want to see me? Or your own niece? Because she can't wait to see her Uncle Meredith—"

"It's not that!"

It wasn't, either, John had known—really, in his own way, Rodney had been looking forward to the holiday. It was just that a guy got used to having a home in a different galaxy from the place where you came from.

John hadn't totally realized it, the first time Jeannie had come to Atlantis, how disturbing it could be. He'd tried to sympathize with Rodney's anxiety, but he hadn't really empathized, not until his dad had died, those few months back.

Because yeah, there was weird, in the Pegasus oh-my-god-I'm-turning-into-a-giant-bug way, and there was _weird,_ standing on the lawn of the old estate and watching a man from another galaxy scarf hors d'oeuvres at your father's funeral. Ronon Dex never looked so alien as when he was awkwardly dolled up in Earth clothes.

And _then_ there was sitting in Jeannie McKay Miller's kitchen, drinking Coke while Teyla kneaded bread and Ronon stirred steaming cinnamon apple pie filling on the stove, _in a pastel check apron_ , and, yeah, John got why Rodney was looking a little shell-shocked and gray around the edges. Some families you were born to, and some families you found, and the intersection had to be disorienting.

The Coke was cold and fizzy, and the kitchen was warm and yellow-gold and smelled like the baker's corner of heaven, and he hadn't seen Teyla smile like this in way too long.

Still, John couldn't help but be kind of grateful that Dave wasn't likely to invite him over for Thanksgiving anytime soon.

 

* * *

Madison fell in love with Teyla.

After patiently letting her uncle finish a restorative cup of coffee, Maddie had claimed her gift. Despite Rodney's fears about the hyperkinetic demands of today's media-saturated youth, when she opened the box and saw the little hand-carved whistle, her eyes went round and John was sure not even a PS3 could've evoked her breathless, "Oh, _wow_!"

Out of consideration for her parents, the whistle was muted, and its woody, mellow tone hopefully wouldn't induce insanity in adults until long after they were back in Pegasus. Rodney showed Madison how to change the pitch by sliding her fingers along the groove, and within minutes she was managing a credible rendition of "Mary Had a Little Lamb," while Rodney smirked the proud smirk of an uncle whose niece's genius genes were not overly diluted by the English major's contribution.

"Where'd you get it?" Madison wanted to know, snuggled up against Rodney on the couch with her legs curled under her, while John flipped through the magazines on the coffee table.

Rodney pointed back at the kitchen. "It's an Athosian whistle. Teyla is an Athosian, originally from Athos—" (John coughed; Rodney rolled his eyes in eloquent dismissal of the global significance of top secret classifications) "—and they learn to carve these as children. The kids make them for their friends. This whistle was given to Teyla when she was a little girl, like you, and then she gave it to me to give to you."

And not _just_ because Rodney had spent two missions fretting non-stop about child-appropriate presents, John didn't think, though he wouldn't swear to it.

Madison stood up on the couch to peer over the back at Teyla, in the kitchen in conversation with her mother. They'd been introduced when they first came in, after John had given her the requisite airplane ride and Ronon had spun her upside down. "This is Teyla," Rodney had told his niece; "Hello," Madison had solemnly said, and Teyla had said, "Hello," just as solemnly back.

Madison had stared up at her without another word, and stared again now for a good minute, before she tugged on Rodney's sleeve and informed her uncle, "Teyla is very beautiful."

"Yes, isn't she?" Rodney said absently, paging through a recent issue of _Maclean's_ ; and then, looking up as his sister and his teammate came into the living room, "—I mean. Um. Yes, Teyla's a very. Um. Don't kill me?"

"I perhaps will not, Rodney," Teyla said evenly.

"Maybe just maiming," Jeannie said, and then they looked at each other and giggled, a sound which shook John to the core. He'd seen Teyla after four cups of ruus wine and she still didn't _giggle_. What had they been talking about in the kitchen just now? He'd have to check with Ronon.

Rodney was looking equally terrified, but Madison just frowned. "Thank you for the whistle, you're very, _very_ beautiful," she told Teyla. "Mommy, am I going to be that beautiful when I grow up?"

Jeannie glanced at Teyla, and the swift progression of understanding across Rodney's sister's face told John at least part of what they'd been discussing. Teyla's own expression was set in the mask John had gotten too used to in the last couple months—but then, before Jeannie could intervene, it melted, and Teyla smiled at Madison, told her, "I am sure you will be, as you should grow up to be as beautiful as your mother."

After that they were fast friends.

 

* * *

Kaleb came back with the groceries and takeout Chinese—"They actually _make_ vegetarian wontons?" Rodney observed in dismay—shook hands with all of them and asked how the chartered flight had been.

He was quietly civil to Rodney all through dinner, sitting squeezed next to him at the too small table, and Rodney was reasonably quiet, which could almost pass for civil. Even when they started arguing the Jungian nature of string theory, their soft mutters lacked a personal edge, no worse than when Rodney butted heads with Zelenka, so John figured they must have worked things out already.

John, meanwhile, entertained the rest of the table with a few of their more innocuous and less scary missions, while Ronon provided sound effects to make Madison squeal. In between giggles, she asked Teyla about her favorite Chinese dishes. After getting over the astonishment that Teyla had in fact never had takeout Chinese (the best efforts of Atlantis's commissary weren't quite up to par), Madison proceeded to teach her the name of every dish, pronounced with authentically lilting inflection. ("Her best friend in kindergarten is Allison Wong," Jeannie explained.)

Teyla dutifully recited every word back, picking up the accent with an ease that made John wonder about the Athosian language. He didn't know if it was tonal; thanks to the magic of the Stargate he'd never heard the real deal. The linguists on Atlantis probably would know.

After they were done eating, John volunteered to stack the dishwasher while Kaleb put away leftovers. "Thanks for coming," Kaleb said as they were finishing up. "It means a lot to Jeannie to have her brother over for holidays, and Maddie's always thrilled when Rodney visits."

"I noticed," John said. One of these days he'd figure out what it was that made Rodney McKay so irresistible to small children. Hopefully before Rodney figured it out and invented some kind of counteragent. "Thanks for having us. Listen, I know Jeannie said you could make room, but I don't want to put you guys out, I booked a hotel in town for us—"

"No way," Kaleb said, shaking his head. "Jeannie wouldn't hear of it. She's been looking forward to seeing all of you again—after the letters Teyla sends, she's kind of thinking of all of you as family."

John didn't talk much with Rodney about his family, but he knew the McKay siblings were about all that were left, and they hadn't been on speaking terms for four years. "Making up for lost time?"

Kaleb smiled, a bit wryly. "Something like that. But you're not putting us out, we're happy to have you."

John suspected it was a measure of his devotion to his wife that he sounded almost genuinely sincere about that.

 

* * *

"Teyla's sleeping in my room, right?" Madison wanted to know, come bedtime. "Because my bed's big and she's a girl and the boys get their own room."

"She's going to have the couch right outside your bedroom, honey," Jeannie began, but Teyla said, "Unless it's improper, I would not mind sharing."

"Well, it would give us an extra bed, but are you sure?"

"In winter on Athos, children would always sleep with their parents," Teyla assured her, "for warmth, and for comfort in the night's long dark," and Madison gleefully declared, "My blankets are really warm and I've got a nightlight so it's not real dark so you'll like it," and then latched her arms around Teyla's waist tight enough to make any argument moot anyway.

Which left her three teammates to figure out the guest room. "We've got a sofa-bed," Jeannie showed them, "with a double mattress, but if you don't want to share there's an air mattress for the floor. And I'm going to put blankets on the living room couch—sorry we don't have better—"

"This is fine," John told her. "Great. We're used to roughing it—this is five-star, especially with the meal we've got coming tomorrow," and he grinned at her and elbowed Rodney in the ribs. "Right?"

"I suppose a carpeted floor is marginally better than sleeping bags in a tent," Rodney said, prodding the air mattress.

Ronon had no comment; he was opening the sofa-bed, metal joints and springs creaking, then closing it again. "Clever."

"Yes, truly the pinnacle of Earth's technological advancement," Rodney said. "So who gets it?"

"We can decide when we go to bed," John said, which proved a strategic error. Or maybe just proof of Ronon's strategy skills, because come eleven, when the less child-friendly discussion had died down and he and Rodney said their goodnights and staggered off to the guest room (it was, Rodney remarked with a jaw-cracking yawn, about 0600 Atlantis Standard Time), they found Ronon already occupying the sofa-bed. He was flopped across it diagonally on his stomach, his toes only just hanging off the corner of the mattress, and his snores had reached the particular pitch that meant waking him would be a good way to get a knife in the eye.

John and Rodney stared at their teammate for a long, exhausted moment. "Guess sharing the sofa-bed's out," John said finally. "Rock-paper-scissors for the couch?"

John's scissors won him the couch, though listening to Rodney's murmured, "Where'd she _get_ this? It feels like it's got better support than the prescription bedding in my quarters," as he sank onto the air mattress, he wasn't sure if Rodney hadn't thrown the paper deliberately.

 

* * *

The day dawned gray and rainy, but cozy inside the Miller house. Following breakfast they all pitched in to put together the Thanksgiving feast.

"But I thought the holiday was on Monday?" John asked.

"Technically," Rodney said, "but we've always eaten on Sunday, gives us Monday to digest."

"So you don't even respect your own ripped-off holiday," John said triumphantly.

"Oh, shut up—at least _we've_ kept a _couple_ of our treaties with the indigenous populations!"

"Tell me," Teyla asked Jeannie, "what is the source of the conflict between your peoples?"

"Nothing in particular," Jeannie replied. "The rivalry's really more of a joke. Canada and the U.S. have the longest peaceful border in the world."

"Though we did burn down the White House," Rodney said.

"Just one house?" Ronon asked.

"The White House is where the President lives," Rodney said. "The United States' chieftain. It was a powerful symbolic gesture."

"It was almost two hundred years ago!" said John.

"Sounds like Wrohl and Inadra," Ronon said. "We Inadrans always made fun of the Wrohl. Said they ate their bibilbriks tail-first. Only actually battled a couple times, though."

"What, aren't you Satedan?" Rodney asked.

"Yeah, Inadra of Sateda."

"Inadra and Wrohl were both Satedan city-states," Teyla said quietly.

"I thought your city was called Sateda," John said.

"It is, now. Only name anyone bothers to remember." Ronon shrugged. "We were all Satedan anyways."

"Found the long tablecloth!" Kaleb returned to the kitchen brandishing the maroon linen, Madison trailing after with a pile of cloth napkins. "Could one of you help me get the leaves to extend the table? They're off in the garage."

"I will help," Teyla volunteered.

Kaleb blinked at her. "Uh, they're oak, on the heavy side—"

"I am sure I will manage," Teyla said primly. It wasn't really Kaleb's fault; Teyla's long-sleeved blouse hid her arms.

"And you guys can help put together the lasagna," Jeannie said. "We're doing one cream and spinach, and one mushroom and tomato sauce. You know, white meat and red meat," and she winked.

Rodney gaped at her. "Are you even _listening_ to yourself?" He looked around to make sure Kaleb was gone, muttered, "We could just pop out and buy some fresh turkey to go on the side, for those who want to try it—just a slice of breast, with gravy, we can't get unprocessed poultry on Atlantis—"

"Meredith!" Jeannie whacked him on the knuckles with her wooden sauce spoon.

Madison had made a turkey in kindergarten, pasting construction paper feathers over a brown paint handprint. It was hung on the refrigerator with dinosaur magnets. "Take a good look," Rodney told Ronon mournfully. "This may be the closest you'll get to an actual turkey."

It wasn't the intensity with which Ronon studied the picture, John thought, so much as how both he and Rodney seemed to be drooling. "Down, you carnivores, we can pick up something for the flight tomorrow."

Rodney eyed him sourly. "Oh, like you don't like turkey more than any of us."

"Well, if you all..." Jeannie began, wavering.

"No," John said, "we're fine. The lasagna looks great. Right?" and he gave Ronon his best commander's frown. No chance of getting it to work on Rodney, but Jeannie could handle her brother, and Ronon dropped his head, rumbled, "Yeah, great."

Actually, once Jeannie had put Ronon to layering pasta, sauce, and three types of cheese in the casserole pan, he looked quite interested, meat or not, especially when he learned the dish haled from the same culture that had produced pizza. "So these Italians, they're still around? Or just their food is?"

Jeannie frowned. "What do you mean, still around?"

"Yes," Rodney said over her. "Rome's not what it once was, but they haven't gotten wiped off the map yet. You know Dr. Galliano, the meteorologist, he's Italian."

"Oh. Does he cook?"

"Hopefully better than he makes weather reports. Though that wouldn't be saying much."

"The table's all set!" Madison caroled from the dining room. She flitted into the kitchen to perform an interpretative dance around the obstacle course of adult legs, to the tune of her Athosian whistle. "Let's eat!"

"Not yet, Maddie, the lasagna needs a couple hours to bake," Jeannie said.

"What, hours?" Madison whined, in an impressive impersonation of her uncle denied a snack.

"I know, why don't you show Teyla and Uncle Mer your toy dinosaur collection? Uncle Mer loves dinosaurs."

"When I was seven!" Rodney squawked. "Paleontology's a soft science—it's practically a sponge, there's so much guesswork with the fossil record we've got—and besides, once you've been chased by a live first cousin to the Deinonychus it loses its charm—"

"You've seen a real live Deinonychus?" Madison asked, her eyes expanded to the size of ping-pong balls. "Did it have feathers?"

"Yes," Rodney said; then, "you know they had feathers?"

"Maddie's up on all the latest research," Jeannie said. "She reads every article in _Discover_ about dinosaurs."

"Not the most accurate source," Rodney harrumphed, "but I suppose, for a kindergartener..."

"Wait 'til you see all my dinosaurs!" Madison said, taking his hand, and Rodney let himself be dragged off, with one last dirty look at his sister over his shoulder. "Teyla, Teyla, you have to see them, too! Even if they don't have the right feathers..."

"A real dinosaur?" Kaleb asked blankly. "Seriously...?"

"They're good eating," Ronon started to say, and then looked at his red tomato-paste-stained hands and hid them behind his back. "Uh. Sorry."

John sighed. "Actually that was the third or fourth one we've seen, at least..."

 

* * *

The tablecloth was all but invisible under the plates and glasses and silverware and steaming pots and pans and dishes and bread baskets. To heck with meat; John's mouth was watering. They sat down at the table with Kaleb at the head, Jeannie on one side of him and Madison on the other. Madison had demanded that Teyla have the seat of honor next to her, with Rodney and then John on the other side beside Jeannie, and Ronon at the other end.

Jeannie gave Kaleb the carving knife, or blunt lasagna serving knife, in this case. "You do the honors, dear."

"Wait, wait!" Madison stood up on her chair, waving her arms like she was refereeing, then reached down and grabbed her father's and Teyla's hands in her little ones. "We have to do giving thanks," she pronounced. "Daddy first, because he's got the big knife."

"Very smart," Ronon approved, reaching across the table to take Teyla's and John's hands.

Once they were all joined, Kaleb cleared his throat. "Well, then. I give thanks for—this meal, and my job, and my parents. And for my wonderful, beautiful, amazing wife, and the even more wonderful, beautiful, amazing daughter she gave us."

Jeannie smiled, said, "Thanks for my husband, who's pretty amazing himself, and our daughter—that's you, Maddie," and Madison grinned. "And also my brother, even though he's looking vaguely nauseous at the moment, for coming all this way, and his friends, too, to make this a real Thanksgiving feast."

Madison nodded at her parents proudly. "And I'm giving thanks for Mommy, and Daddy, and Uncle Mer, and Uncle John, and Mr. Ronon, and Teyla, and my friend Allison, and Allison's Mommy and Daddy, and Miss Beaulac at school, and Gramma and Grandpa, and Mrs. Connor, and Mrs. Connor's cat Alexis with half an ear, and—"

Jeannie eventually hushed Madison during the catalogue of her stuffed toy collection, and looked at her brother pointedly. "Mer?"

"Ah, um, yes," Rodney said. "Thanks for, um. Everybody here, of course. And for certain ancient cities not sinking into the sea again. And for Schwarzschild being gloriously wrong about the tidal forces in and stability of wormholes, without which we never would've been able to come back here."

"—Or in fact leave in the first place," John murmured.

"—And for my sister for putting us up. And putting up with us. Me, especially," Rodney finished in a blurted mumble, but Jeannie squeezed his hand, smiling.

"You, now," Madison prompted Teyla in a loud whisper, jiggling their clasped hands.

Teyla smiled, Mona-Lisa serene. "I am thankful to know there is a world this beautiful where no Wraith have come, and no Wraith will ever come."

"Right," Ronon said. "And thanks for the food. It's always good to have it."

Then they were all looking at John. He coughed. Rodney's hand was sweating in his; Ronon's was even warmer but dry and calloused. "Thanks for," John said, "um. Good food and good company. And for..." He glanced at Teyla, who nodded to him gently, and managed to get out, "...for family. The ones you find."

"And the ones you are born to," Teyla said, smiling at Rodney and his sister.

"Both," Rodney said. "Yeah. Um—let's eat?"

"Yes!" Madison declared.

 

* * *

Halfway through the meal, Jeannie remembered the bottle of wine Rodney had brought at John's insistence, and the siblings spent a few minutes in the kitchen digging up the corkscrew and appropriate glasses. It was a mild, sweet red, and Ronon wrinkled his nose at his glass disparagingly, but Teyla asked if they might bring some back to the Athosians.

Kaleb let Madison take a small sip from his glass, but she spat it out and stuck out her tongue. "That's gone bad!" she decided, went to the kitchen and brought back a carton of grape juice from the refrigerator. "Here, Teyla, you can give everybody this, it's still good."

She glowered at Ronon when he laughed. "Thank you, Madison, it is very thoughtful of you," Teyla said, and the little girl beamed like the sun coming out.

"So this is the holiday?" Ronon said finally, leaning back and pushing at his fourth plateful of lasagna with the side of his fork. "Eating and drinking and talking?"

"Pretty much, yeah," John said. "And there's football, on real—uh, American Thanksgiving."

Ronon leaned across the table to flick Rodney in the forehead. "Can see why it's your favorite."

"It is much like the equinoxes were on Athos," Teyla said. "The Harvest Day and the Rebirth Day. For the Harvest day we would all come together in the meeting tent to feast on the best of our crops and hunts, until we were fat for the winter. Then, during the winter months, we would all be sure to put aside a bit of our best baking and smoked meat, to share with one another for the Rebirth Day, reminding ourselves of the wonders of spring to come. And for both we would sing and dance—and play our whistles, such as yours, Madison."

"A lot of our Thanksgiving traditions came from European harvest festivals," Kaleb remarked, "so really, this is the same holiday as yours, pretty much."

"Minus the singing and dancing," Rodney said, and might've muttered, " _Thank god_ ," under his breath after that.

"It sounds fun!" Madison said, eyes bright. "Can I go, Mommy?"

"Maybe someday, sweetie." Jeannie looked down the table. "What about your world, Ronon?" she asked. "Do you have harvest festivals, or—um. Oh, no, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I didn't mean—"

"S'okay," Ronon said. "We didn't have any harvest festival on Sateda. But we had Feast Day the last day of every month. Big meal, like this, with family, or your lesson troupe, or your squad."

"Once a month?" Rodney straightened up in his chair. "Really?"

"Satedan month. About six weeks, ten to an annum. There was a different Feast for every month," and Ronon counted off on his fingers, "fish, bird, crab, gourd—"

"Gourd?"

"Deer, bibilbrik—like that."

"So if it wasn't a harvest festival," Kaleb asked, "what were you celebrating?"

"The usual," Ronon said. "Being alive, the Wraith not culling us yet."

No one had been talking over him anyway, and yet somehow the silence when Ronon closed his mouth seemed oppressively total, until Madison piped up, "What're Wraith?" She pulled on Teyla's sleeve. "You said that word, too, Teyla. Are they bad?"

"Yes," Teyla said after barely an instant. "Very bad." Then she opened her arms and drew Madison into her lap. The girl clambered onto her willingly, putting her arms around her back and snuggling in, and Teyla rested her cheek against her gold curls. "But you will never have to know what they are, Madison."

"Oh." Madison sounded disappointed—a true McKay, to never be content with ignorance; but she was Jeannie's daughter, too, enough to bite her tongue on her questions for the moment, sitting quietly and letting Teyla hold her close.

 

* * *

After everyone had demolished a couple pies and a bowl of fresh whipped cream, Rodney and Ronon were democratically elected to handle clean-up ("Be careful with those plates, my sister'll kill us if they get chipped! No, not there, you can't put that in the dishwasher. And not there, either, are you trying to knock over that stack before we even wash it? God, have you ever heard of a bull in a china shop?"

"No. A what in a what?"

"That's—never mind, just give me that!")

Kaleb got up and took Madison by the hand. "Now's a good time to call. Let's go talk to your grandparents, sweetie."

"Are Gramma and Grandpa coming?"

"Not this time," Kaleb told her, "they're in New Brunswick with your aunts and uncles. We'll see them at Christmas, okay? But you can tell them you love them on the phone."

And Jeannie hauled Teyla off to look at family photos or something of the sort. After narrowly escaping KP duty, John prowled the living room, noting the new picture of Rodney with Madison on his lap on the mantelpiece. There was also, to his surprise, a small framed snapshot of the four of his team—they were in a green field, Rodney's mouth open and his arms captured mid-flail, Ronon grinning, Teyla rolling her eyes, John with shades on, standing between them.

M4V-382, John recognized, though the tall grasses and blue sky could be mistaken for a thousand different places on Earth. Lorne must have snapped the picture. John wondered if Rodney or Teyla had given it to Jeannie.

A murmur of feminine voices came from the guest room. With a mind for blackmail material—Jeannie had once promised Baby Meredith pictures, but had yet to deliver—John sidled to the door.

There were a couple albums on the floor, but Jeannie and Teyla weren't looking at them, sitting on the open sofa-bed. Jeannie had one of the plaid cushions in her lap, was hugging it to her chest. "Mer had told me, before I got your letter," she was saying. "He emailed me whenever the gate opened, all the time you were...gone. I can't imagine what it was like, Teyla, but I'm so, so sorry."

"Thank you," Teyla said, her face turned away and her soft voice almost as toneless as Jeannie's was full of emotion.

"What were you going to call him?" Jeannie asked quietly.

"I...we do not name our children until their first birthday," Teyla said.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry—"

"No, do not be," Teyla told her. "I was asked the same many times on Atlantis, when I was...before. Enough so that I had the thought to call him Tagan, after my father. Or else Arrong, after Kanaan's," and then her voice went so soft John couldn't hear it anymore. But he saw the movement as she leaned into Jeannie, face pressed against Jeannie's shoulder and her own shoulders shaking as Jeannie put her arms around them.

John turned away, went back to the living room and threw himself down on the couch. He flipped through the October issue of _Popular Science_ without registering words or pictures, just the rustle of the pages, loud enough to cover any sounds that might drift from the guest room's half-open door.

Then he tossed the magazine aside, got up and followed the clanging clatter of pots, Rodney's strident rebukes and Ronon's basso counterpoint, into the kitchen. There were clean pans in the dish drainer, and a slippery layer of bubbles on the linoleum floor. Ronon's white shirt was soaked and clinging like a fashion's model, and Rodney's hair was plastered wetly to his head, frothy with soap bubbles. They were staring at one another in fierce, motionless silence when John entered, Rodney holding the sink's spray nozzle like a pistol with the water running cold behind him, and Ronon grasping a damp towel twirled into a whip in both hands.

"So, looks like you're doing great here, what can I do to help?" John asked, and got a soap-slimed dishrag to the face for his trouble.

 

* * *

"It's the best movie ever," Madison said, "it's got a witch and her Mommy and Daddy become pigs and the boy is a dragon and she has to pull a bicycle out of a river in the bath!"

"Sounds like my last acid trip," Rodney said, "—you know, if I'd ever risk my brain actually dropping acid."

"Enzyme, and/or hallucination-inducing concussions at four thousand feet under?"

"Point."

"You've never seen _Spirited Away_?" Jeannie asked. "It's a lovely film."

"Award-winning," Kaleb offered. "And it holds up surprisingly well on the twenty-fifth viewing."

Rodney's expression made it clear what he thought of awards and recommendations granted by English majors and their Hollywood Academy kin, but he waved his hand. "Yes, if the little lady here wants it, of course."

He set his open laptop on the couch arm as Madison scrambled to put the disk in the player. Then she nestled herself on the couch between him and Teyla, clutching the DVD case. Teyla studied it with interest—feigned or true, John couldn't tell from his position in the armchair kitty-corner to the couch, and he was too comfortably ensconced to sit up and make sure. Her smile was real, anyway, as Madison pointed out important details to her.

Kaleb picked up the remote. "English or Japanese?" he called across to the dining room, where Jeannie was portioning out the last of the wine across six glasses.

Rodney looked up at the TV screen in alarm, then leaned over to get a look at the DVD case. "It's a _cartoon_."

"Japanese anime, Mer," Jeannie corrected, unknowingly hitting the exact tone that Zelenka got during certain pre-movie-night arguments.

"It's Miyazaki's," John supplied, having listened to more of those arguments than Rodney himself had, never mind that Rodney was usually participating in them. "He's Japan's Walt Disney, pretty much."

"Some of that anime's pretty cool," Ronon remarked from where he was sprawled on the rug, leaning against the couch arm with his big hands laced comfortably over his stomach.

"You would think so," Rodney said. "Blood and explosions are cheap to draw, so they can do plenty of them."

"Not in this one," Jeannie said, coming over to put a half-full wineglass into John's hand and another into Teyla's. "Give it a try, you might like it."

"Fine, whatever—put it on in English, at least."

Kaleb grimaced. "The English dub changes the script, the story's more subtle in the original."

"But if it's in English I don't have to _watch_ —um, I won't miss any dialogue. Besides, won't Madison find the subtitles hard to follow?"

"Doesn't matter, she's got it memorized in both languages..."

And so on; in the end they went with the English track, as Ronon and Teyla's English reading skills weren't always equal to fast-paced subtitles.

John hadn't remembered the title, but he had seen most of the movie before, one night on Atlantis a year or two ago; once the little girl was in the castle, he remembered the richly dreamy feel, and the little black dust-bunnies scuttling around. He thought the bug-like things would've creeped him out as a kid—they kind of creeped him out now—but Madison squeaked and giggled at them like she wanted one for a pet.

The movie was good, but John found himself more watching the people watching. Twilight had darkened to night outside the windows and the only light came from the TV, Jeannie's family and his team awash in softening blues. Rodney's long lashes were limned in flickers from his laptop as he typed, catching up on email or research or whatever, a softly distracting tappity-tap. But he kept getting distracted by the adventures on screen, his fingers freezing mid-sentence over the keyboard as he gazed at the television for long scenes, before shaking his head and returning to his typing.

Ronon watched with the intent, utterly silent absorption that he took in all films with. They'd learned a while back that if any cultural references ought to be explained, they'd need to pause to do it, because Ronon would never interrupt to ask questions, and would aim a death glare at anyone who dared use more than a voiceless whisper when a movie was playing. It did keep down the noise pollution at movie nights, anyway; the Atlantis screenings were the quietest John had ever attended. Rodney was the only exception—not that Ronon didn't glare, but nothing shut Rodney up for long.

And Teyla—John had never really managed to get Teyla into movies anymore than football. But she was watching now with the same fascination as Madison, their eyes wide and shining. Under a knit afghan they cuddled together, and Teyla gasped as Madison did as the little girl onscreen rode the rippling ribbon of a river dragon through a starry sky.

She would have made such a fantastic mother—it wasn't the first time John had realized it, but it was the first time in a while that his heart didn't squeeze painfully at the thought; that he could watch Teyla smile and not feel cold.

The glow from the television was cool, liquid blue, but John, sunk into the armchair's paisley cushions, hadn't been this warm in a long time.

 

* * *

John blinked when the blue shadows abruptly brightened to gold, sat up and stifled a yawn behind his fist. White on black credits were rolling on the screen and Kaleb had turned on the lamp. "Anyone want a snack?" Jeannie offered. "There's the leftover Chinese, or I can make sandwiches."

"Mm," Rodney said, standing and stretching and wincing as his back popped. "Sandwiches sound good."

Ronon got up from the floor with the enviable grace of a big cat, a smooth easy motion. He poked Rodney in the gut with one finger. "'Course you're still hungry. You'd turn into one of those pigs like _that_ , if you were in that spirit marketplace."

"So would you," Rodney muttered back, slapping his hand away, "or maybe not, as I'm reasonably sure it was only _thinking_ adults who—"

He was interrupted by Madison climbing off the couch and stamping her foot down right in front of Ronon's boots. "Mr. Ronon!" she said, glaring all the long way up at his face, fists on her hips. "Don't be mean to Uncle Mer!"

Ronon stared back down at her, a little yellow-haired creature less than half his height. "Uh, Maddie, honey," Kaleb said, getting up from the loveseat in a scrambling hurry.

" _Don't!_ " Madison repeated.

Ronon stared at her a motionless second longer, then nodded. "Sorry," he said, and then reached down and swooped her up in one arm, using his free hand to tickle her belly.

"Wah, no, _don't!_ " Madison shrieked, squirming and flailing and curling around Ronon's arm like a pillbug rolling itself up. "No! Eeeek! No, stop!" It would've been more convincing if she hadn't been giggling in hysterically high pitches as she struggled.

Jeannie smiled fondly, shaking her head, until there was a flash of bared teeth—"Madison Meagan! No biting!"

"Nah, it's good," Ronon said, handling his wiggling bundle with comfortable ease and passing her from arm to arm before she could get a grip on him. "Any weapon she's got, good for her to use."

"This is not fighting practice," Teyla said mildly.

"It's for _fun_ , you caveman!" Rodney hissed.

"Sure it is," Ronon said, grinning, "fighting's lots of fun!"

From his grin, John was about eighty-five percent sure he was just kidding; the other fifteen percent, he didn't want to know, and suspected Jeannie and Kaleb were better off also in ignorance.

"Kids will be kids, right?" Rodney said, "even two meter tall ones," and he pulled his sister into the kitchen for sandwich-making. Teyla and Kaleb followed, leaving John hanging in the doorway to babysit, or at least make sure no chairs or lamps were overturned.

When Ronon finally collapsed on the couch, Madison crashed half on top of him, they were both panting for breath and grinning. Madison's soon fell away, though, and she drummed her heels on Ronon's thigh. "But don't you like Uncle Mer, Mr. Ronon?"

"Yeah," Ronon said.

"But you're _mean_ to him!"

"Yeah," Ronon said, "but that's 'cause I like him."

Madison made a face. "That's weird."

"No," Ronon said. "Your mom and dad, they're mean to you sometimes, right? Like, they make you go to bed when you want to stay up, or they won't let you eat nothing but candy."

"Yeah..." Madison said slowly.

"But they're not really mean, because they're doing it to take care of you."

"Yeah," Madison said, and her face cleared. "Oh, you're taking care of Uncle Mer! Like a Daddy? Because you're taller?"

"Nope," Ronon said. "Like a teammate. Me and Teyla and Rodney and John, we're teammates, so we all take care of each other."

"So you weren't being mean to him?"

"Yeah, your Uncle Mer, he eats a lot sometimes and doesn't exercise much, maybe it's not good for him, with what we do. So that's why I say that." Ronon looked thoughtful. "The arrow in his butt, though—that's just _funny_."

"The what?"

Ronon grinned. "Tell you later. Your mom and dad probably would want me to wait 'til you're older."

"A lot older," Rodney said, right over John's shoulder, a plate of grilled cheese in hand. "Like, ninety. Maybe a hundred." His waspish tone was ordinary enough, though when John looked at him, Rodney had his head ducked, like he was embarrassed about the smile he couldn't seem to stop making.

 

* * *

Madison fell asleep on the couch with her head in Teyla's lap. John's last image before he wandered into the guest room to crash on the sofa-bed (beating Ronon to it tonight) was Teyla's fingers carding through the girl's fine blonde hair, her lips curving in a gentle smile as she talked with Jeannie and Rodney.

John awoke to sun on his face, a stripe shining through the gap between shade and window frame. He squinted into it dazedly, sat up. The mattress creaked under him, and Ronon, sacked out on the other side with one arm and his feet dangling off the mattress's edge, grumbled incoherently and rolled onto his back.

Vacating the bed before Ronon rolled over onto him, John ducked into the bathroom for a quick shower and shave, pulled on a sweatshirt over jeans and wandered out to the kitchen.

"You're up!" Jeannie said brightly. She was in a blue bathrobe over striped pajamas. "Good morning. I'll get the pancakes on for you—the batter's all made, but better to grill them fresh. Do you want eggs with them?"

"Um," John said.

"He'll want coffee first," Rodney said, appearing out of somewhere to thrust a steaming mug at John.

"Meredith, have you been inducting innocent colonels into our worst vice?"

"Everyone on Atlantis runs on coffee," Rodney said. "It's the city's lifeblood. Forget the ZPM, we wouldn't last a day without caffeine."

John sipped the coffee—no milk, a pinch of sugar, Rodney had the recipe down—and glanced at the clock over the stove, then blinked and rubbed his eyes. The position of the hands didn't change. "It's almost ten in the morning?"

"Yeah, we all slept in, I've only been up three hours," Rodney said.

"Wasn't it before midnight when we crashed?"

"Too much food, a little wine, a good movie, that'll put anyone down for the night," Jeannie said. "And I think you all needed it." She poured pancake batter onto the sizzling griddle in uneven circles, picked up the spatula. "I've gotten Mer's emails, and Teyla's letters, but what you guys have been talking about, especially the night before last..."

John furrowed his brow and drank more coffee, trying to remember, coming up mostly blank. He could recall sitting on the couch, listening to Rodney, talking himself sometimes, Teyla and Ronon joining in, too; but after the plane flight and the drive that afternoon, he'd been tired enough that the whole conversation hadn't really registered.

"It hasn't been an easy year for you," Jeannie said, staring down at the cooking pancakes.

"You can say that again," Rodney said, more soft than sarcastic.

"I'm glad you came. All of you." Jeannie continued to watch the pancakes like they might spontaneously burst into flames if she looked away for an instant. "I couldn't—yesterday, before we ate. I couldn't say it in front of Maddie, but what I wanted to say was thank you. For being here. Thank you for being _able_ to come, for not—for not being—after everything, for getting through it, for still being—"

"Wait, are you _crying_?" Rodney sounded horrified, or terrified, or possibly both.

"No, shut up!" Jeannie smacked him in the shoulder with the spatula and scraped her palm across her eyes. "Mer, you're an asshole!"

"Ow," Rodney said, rubbing his shoulder. "And, yeah. Sorry. I'm—we're—" He looked at John helplessly.

John cleared his throat. "Sorry about giving Madison that whistle. Hope you guys don't hate us for it in a week."

"Oh, yeah," Rodney said hurriedly, "I better show you, there's a way you can block it from making sound—it won't damage it, it's pretty easy to fix if you know how, but if you need some quiet time, Teyla showed me how—"

He wasn't ready for Jeannie to flip the four pancakes and then turn around, all in one complicated motion, bury her face in his shoulder and sniffle loudly once. But Rodney was learning, because he got his arms around her before she could pull away, awkwardly patted her back and said in a worried mumble, "It's—yeah, um... It's okay. Um. I love you?"

Jeannie snorted a sort-of chuckle, gulped and drew back. "Love you, too. Even if you are an asshole."

She glanced at John, said, "Sorry about that," then reached to grab a plate from the drainer and flipped the pancakes onto it. "Here, the maple syrup's on the table already."

"100% genuine syrup," Rodney informed him, full of 100% Canadian pride.

 

* * *

Kaleb and Madison had taken Teyla down and across the border to Seattle for last-minute shopping, Jeannie explained as John ate. They'd agreed to meet them at the airfield at four, in time to get their chartered plane to fly back to Colorado Springs.

"Book shopping?" Rodney suspiciously inquired. "Electronics, maybe? Or music?"

"Clothes, I think," Jeannie said. "Maybe shoes? Jewelry? I don't know, Kaleb's the one who likes to shop with Maddie," and the McKay siblings shared a moment of shuddering regret for those loved ones fallen prey to the dread consumer drive.

Ronon emerged from the guest room then, and John helped Jeannie whip up enough pancakes and scrambled eggs to satisfy him. After that Jeannie turned on her computer to discuss the finer points of her latest mathematics proof with Rodney in person.

Once that discussion had escalated to incomprehensible six-syllable words and polynomial strings, interspersed with the occasional "idiot," "jerk," and "oh my god how in a rational universe could you possibly be this far off?" John swiped the basketball in the entry hall and went outside on the driveway with Ronon.

Atlantis had a regulation court, but John didn't really go for the game proper, just shooting hoops; and a game of horse never felt right indoors, even when you could smell the ocean. The rubber reverb of the ball bouncing on the pavement made him feel thirteen again. Dave had been two inches shorter than him then, but he'd been stubborn enough to practice until he could make any shot John could manage and then some.

Ronon didn't need to practice; between his height and his throwing skills—usually applied to pointy things, but more than adequate with anything else—he swished the ball through the net every time. After John lost two games in about ten minutes, they switched to some basic one-on-one. Which was really just an excuse to let Ronon more actively kick his ass, but hey, as long as he was happy, and he took care not to actually knock John down when he stole the ball.

The sun was behind clouds again, but it hadn't started raining yet. When they stopped, John pushed up his hoodie's sleeves and wiped sweat off his brow. Ronon wasn't even breathing hard; he'd gotten a better work-out tickling Madison. John grinned, maybe a little wry, as he folded his legs and sat on the porch steps.

Ronon leaned on the railing next to him, looked out across the street. John wondered what he saw—a plain, quiet, boring neighborhood, green lawns and growing trees and snug safe houses, families living behind clapboard and shingles, with all their ordinary fears of mortgages and burglars, car accidents and cancer and getting laid off.

He didn't know if Sateda had had suburbs; all he'd seen of the planet was the wreck of that one city, the barren streets and skeletons of empty buildings.

"Teyla was right," Ronon said. "Your world, it is beautiful. Don't know if I could really live here, but I like visiting."

"Yeah," John said. "Me, too."

 

* * *

They were all packed up, ready to go. Teyla had already taken her bag with her. John checked his watch. About fifteen minutes, should be enough time. It'd be too late to call by the time they got back tonight. "Mind if I use your phone? I'll pay for the long-distance."

"Go ahead," Jeannie said, "and don't bother about the money, we've got a good plan." She hovered in the kitchen doorway for a moment, then nodded to him and closed the door.

Satedan Feast Day had been every six weeks, Ronon had said. Mid-October to the end of November, it worked out pretty well, actually.

Dialing America from Canada didn't take any extra numbers. The phone rang once, twice, three times before it was picked up. "Hello, Sheppard speaking."

"Hey, Dave," John said. "It's John—I was just wondering what you were doing for Thanksgiving next month. Is there room at the table for a few more? Say, me, and three civilian contractors?..."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Fake Birds and Real Holidays](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414208) by [kalakirya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalakirya/pseuds/kalakirya)




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